Letters to My Younger Self

If I could go back and sit with that broken boy who walked the streets of D.C., if I could look into his eyes that had seen too much too young, if I could wrap my arms around those small shoulders carrying grief too heavy for a child – here's what I would tell him.

Dear Younger Me,

I know you feel invisible right now. I know you walk through those school halls like a ghost, carrying pain that feels too big for your small body to contain. I know you think nobody sees you, nobody understands, nobody cares.

But I'm writing to tell you something that will change everything: I was there.

I was there when you tried to make sense of staples and paper and grown-up work with your tiny hands. I was there when you wondered why other kids had what you didn't. I was there when you learned that fists could earn respect but couldn't fill the hole in your heart.

About the Pain You're Carrying

That grief you're carrying? It's not too much. You're not broken beyond repair. You're not damaged goods. You're a child processing loss that would challenge grown men, and you're doing better than you know.

That anger burning in your chest? It's not bad – it's energy. It's power. Right now it feels destructive, but one day you'll learn to channel it into protection for other kids who feel just like you do right now.

Those streets teaching you their lessons? Listen and learn, but remember – they're preparing you for something bigger than what you can see from where you're standing.

About the People Around You

Granddad's rough hands and tough love? That's preparation. He's teaching you to stand when the world tries to knock you down. His weathered face holds wisdom you'll understand later when you're facing your own storms.

Your brothers? They're your first glimpse of loyalty that runs deeper than blood. The bonds you're forming now in these hard moments – they'll carry you through battles you can't even imagine yet.

And that voice you hear sometimes in the quiet moments, the one that sounds like love when everything else sounds like chaos? Listen to it. Trust it. It's not your imagination.

About Your Future

You're going to wear a uniform one day, and it will fit you better than you think possible. You're going to serve your country and learn that strength comes in many forms.

You're going to fall down more times than you can count, but you're also going to get back up every single time. Because that's who you are – that's who you're becoming in these hard moments.

You're going to help kids who look just like you do right now. Kids who think they're invisible, who carry pain too big for their small shoulders. And when you tell them your story, they're going to see hope for the first time.

About God

I know you're not sure about God right now. I know it's hard to believe in love when you've seen so much hurt. But He's there in ways you'll understand later.

He's in Granddad's steady presence. He's in the moments when you feel strong enough to protect someone smaller. He's in every time you choose to keep going when giving up would be easier.

One day, you'll understand that every struggle you're walking through right now is preparing you to help someone else find their way out of their darkness.

What I Want You to Remember

Your story isn't ending – it's just beginning. This chapter is hard, but it's not the last chapter.

That pain you're carrying? It's going to become your superpower. You're going to use it to reach places in people's hearts that only someone who's been where you've been can reach.

Keep walking, little brother. Keep fighting. Keep believing that something better is coming.

Because it is. And when it comes, you're going to understand why you had to walk through this darkness to carry light to others.

You are seen. You are loved. Your story matters.

Love,
The man you're becoming